


sick and scorching

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Flashbacks, M/M, Masturbation, NFSW-ish, Pining, everything is terrible in Sans Land, he's very scared, holy hell this whole thing is just pure angst for our favorite skeleton, i've been told this was kinda boring and confusing, lousily edited, originally this was a vent and in 2nd person, originally this was a vent i wrote when i was sad and in 2nd person, sans and papyrus share a room and have a bunkbed, sans has a war with his feelings on papyrus, sans sleeps on the top, so if you see "her" or "you" that's a mistake my friends, so warning: this might be kinda boring and confusing, underfell sorta, yeah ok i'm horrible and only write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12298197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: That's his love alright: sick and scorching, twisted and honey-sweet. Sans decides to reflect upon this.





	sick and scorching

He’s going at it again, Sans knows. There’s only the occasional vibration of the bunkbed that says that he’s doing it and it's not much, not much at all, but he knows. He just knows.

The shiver of the bed sends chills down his spine and a heavy weight settles in his ribcage. He grimaces, pulls the covers above the temple of his skull, and tries to figure out how Papyrus started doing _this_.

Hm. He would bet all of his gold that he was the one who influenced the younger skeleton to start. Yup, he was the one who did it. No doubt. Papyrus was never that experimental and curious with himself in the first place- well, not in that way, anyways. His top priority was the Royal Guard and nothing else came close to that. 

Sans was, though. Stupidly. So, so stupidly. 

He's careful, always knows what to do, when to do it, where to do it: he knows the limit and depth of those things than he know most facts about himself. However, temptation faults even the best, and since he’s definitely not the best, he's definitely not the exception. Perhaps it was the slow rhythm of hitched breath Sans had when he was pleasuring himself, that got Papyrus aware and curious, because maybe it wasn’t as low as he thought it was at the time. Maybe he walked in on a time when Sans was doing it, saw the twitchy movements of his body, saw the disgusting expression on his face, panicked and left without saying anything. Or maybe Papyrus figured out things about _that night_ , that he can experience pleasure like that outside of his dreams and by himself. Maybe he realized it wasn’t a dream, that Sans was a monster for coming onto him, and that _this is a dream, Papyrus_ was all just a flimsy lie to cover his cowardly, incestuous, metaphorical ass.

Yeah, he’s probably overthinking this, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He shouldn’t, anyways. It’s about time he confronts this ever-active war inside his head.

He knows all-too-well the interest in his younger brother was more than what’s socially acceptable, but that’s ok, right? Not like he was pure to begin with. Everything's been messed up since the moment he was born (don’t even get him started about W.D. Gaster) and it’d be unfair to him to expect him a morally-opinioned skeleton. And that’s totally fine, isn’t it? This is alright. This is understandable. This isn't his fault.

Finally recalling the first time he discovers him doing it sends a shiver throughout his body. It's a late night, and like most late nights, he's tired and has to do some lab work previously procrastinated. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Climbing down the ladder in a daze, he turns around and sees it and suddenly the daze is cleared crystal and he's not tired anymore.

The earth stops spinning. He can’t move, drowned bloody in what’s transpiring in front of him. It’s terrible, it’s everything he's ever feared, his worst nightmare, get it the fuck away. 

_But even so, why is he so entranced?_

He's comprehending everything, and yet he's comprehending nothing. What’s going on? What’s he doing? Why is his blanket bulging and moving like that, to and fro so rapidly it must've been tiring? Why’s he turned away from him and why’s his skull tinted a light orange like that? Is- is this serious? Oh god, is this actually happening?

Ah, Sans' been caught, hasn’t he? After all those years of thinking _oh, don’t worry, he should keep doing it. Papyrus doesn’t know, he knows_ , holy shit he actually knows. The denial dies slow and painful, he’s left gawking at him through the painful process, and after, his head’s a jungle of tangled thoughts and hissed hellfire curses. 

It’s- it’s- it’s his worst nightmare. It’s the absolute- absolute fucking worst- the worst fucking thing he's ever seen and Sans wants to- to head the hell up his ladder because maybe then Papyrus wouldn’t have done it but that doesn’t mean anything does it because by the looks of it Papyrus has experience _done it thousands of times fuck revolting disgusting horrible putrid fuck he's gonna be sick and he's thinking too much too fast again, slow down._

He climbs so fast and so miraculously soundless up his ladder that he's basically flying and when he gets up in his bed, he hastily props himself against a pillow. An image pops up in his head of Papyrus under that blanket, _touching himself, saliva dribbling down his jawbone, eyes hazed, imagining his phalanges wrapped around Sans’ cervical spine_ (fuck, feels so good), _hot and bothered, writhing for S-_  
-  
Wait. What. What the fuck. No- no- He's not actually fucking- Oh fucking lord. Oh fuckity fuck. Somebody’s gotta- gotta be shitting him.

He brings his metacarpals to his face and it smells like a certain part of his body and he pulls it away. No fucking way. He's- he's gonna be sick. Again. He shakes his skull vigorously and pull the covers over his skull. This is a dream. Can’t- can't be anything else because if it was, he- he can’t even of what he would do if it wasn’t. There’s no way this isn’t a dream.

He didn’t actually think of that, really, and this is all his mind’s doing because if he did, he’d be a whole new level of _sick fuck_ and that’s going too far, even for him. He's already weird enough and that’s enough to fill his plate. He doesn’t need something like _this_ plaguing him.

This is a dream. Can’t be real, no way, _no way no way._

He returns to the real world where Papyrus is still _active_ , teleports noiselessly to the quiche bench in Waterfall, and figures that in times like these, there's nothing he can do but laugh. So he does, grins wider first and then sends his bitterness to the makeshift stars above. He laughs again. And laughs and laughs and laughs. 

That day, he is reminded that his tears are the color blue.

**Author's Note:**

> wow why did i write this. anyways, that was fun.
> 
> not much to say though. i am kinda ashamed though haha. some people say my writing's kinda hard to understand, so i tried to make shit as clear as possible. 
> 
> uhhh, comment!!! please bros, i live for comments!!
> 
> wanna scream about ut w me? discord is suuji#6681, tumblr is sincerely-suuji


End file.
